It Takes A Thief
by xfighterplane
Summary: She's a runaway heiress and amateur con artist looking for an escape. He's a private investigator and former thief looking for a second chance. He's the cat, she's the mouse. It takes a thief to catch a thief? You have no idea.
1. new york, new york

**Author's Note: So, this my first story (-woot-) and this is chapter is sort of a prelude to what it is going on. Enjoy :D**

* * *

**_"Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream."_**

**_---  
_**

John F. Kennedy airport wasn't as nice as she remembered.

To be honest, if she _really _wanted to be running away in style, she would have taken one of the many private jets her family owned to some exotic locale and wait it out. Pilots and flight attendants could be bribed into silence, seeing as she had more money in her wallet than they saw in a lifetime. Money was such a fickle thing to her. Once you've seen enough of it, it gets rather tiring.

Money can buy a lot of things: silence, obedience, cooperation. But, as they say, money couldn't buy happiness. Money couldn't buy _everything_. Money couldn't buy her a life, it couldn't buy her freedom.

Because if it could, she wouldn't have been there at all.

"Did you hear about the Rivera girl?" An old lady two seats to her left said loudly, waving around her Page Six article like it was on fire. "They say she's gone missing—" The girl had to suppress a smile, going missing and running away were two entirely different things. One was willing. "—the poor family. The poor girl, she must be so scared."

She wasn't. Bored, hungry, and uncomfortable maybe. But never scared.

Another old woman piped in, "I bet it was a kidnapping with ransom. They're worth _millions_, that Rivera Corporation." She smiled fondly. "Real rag to riches story for the Riveras. My son used to work there..."

An older man, probably a Wall Streeter from his luxe suit, joined the conversation with a grave shake of the head. "It's Page Six, ladies," he said bluntly, "if she were missing, every newspaper in the country would be reporting about it." He gestured at his own newspaper. "And would you look at that, _mine _says nothing."

_Of course it wouldn't_, she wanted to yell, _That's amateur hour._ Getting in Page Six was a mere coincidence. There was literally no way that the Rivera Corp. would let this story go public. They cared about a lot of things over there: profit, status, and budding importance. But, their reputation was number one. And nothing could hurt that more than an ill written story about how the CEO's daughter _disappeared._

The two older women tutted at the man in disapproval before returning to their heated discussion about the possibility of a kidnapping in the Rivera case. If only they knew that the subject of their gossip was two seats to their right. If only they could see past the glasses, frizzy hair, and muted clothing in an attempt to blend in. If only they could see that her (coach class) plane ticket read "_Aria I. Caviler"_which was a perfect anagram of _Alicia Rivera._

But they didn't.

So when the flight attendant announced that their flight was now boarding, they didn't notice the girl who bumped into them oh so casually with a meek "_I'm sorry_" while oh so discreetly slipping the Page Six article into her purse. No, they simply smiled at her politeness and moved on, now talking animatedly about how they want to visit their grandchildren in Tahoe.

But then again, the girl didn't notice when another guy said with a tiny, victorious grin, "_Got her_" and just as casually boarded the plane as if he was just another passenger. She didn't notice him looking beyond her impeccable disguise. She didn't notice how her perfect anagram registered with him.

She didn't notice how her perfect cover, her perfect plan was dangerously close to unraveling.

People don't notice a lot of things.

* * *

**(Another) Author's Note: Well, the girl is easy enough to figure out, the guy is another story. This will probably be ten chapters long, with each chapter set in a new location around the world. I hope you all like it, reviews are always appreciated!**


	2. london calling

**London Calling**

---

Alicia Rivera was not the perfect daughter.

The perfect Rivera daughter would be her older sister Nina. Nina was beautiful, to put it simply. She inherited her mother's good looks along with the curvy body that earned her many lustful stares. With sleek hair, beautiful kohl-rimmed eyes, and full lips, she was regularly asked to model. Nina was good at golf, enjoyed reading _Vogue _magazine, and a former dancer. She was the gleaming star in polite society.

Alicia, on the other hand, was not as graceful. While she was good looking in her own right, Alicia tended to blend in with her surroundings and the only stares she earned were those of vague contempt when compared to her sister. She was thin, almost painfully so, with brown-almost-black hair almost always swept up in a messy bun with wide eyes that seemed to always find themselves rolled. Alicia preferred running to golf, _The New York Times _to _Vogue, _and couldn't dance to save her life. She was the black sheep of polite society.

Alicia may not have been good at the same things her sister was, but she was _exceptionally _good at things she wasn't allowed to do.

* * *

London was always one of her favorite cities.

Maybe it was the shopping or the sights, the trendy clubs or the accents, the music or the cinema. But, in the back of her head, Alicia knew the true reason why she loved it, the reason that allowed her to check into a hotel without the receptionist immediately having a panic attack and calling her closest friends. The reason that allowed her to walk around aimlessly without any whispers of why she chose to wear the sloppiest clothing she owned. The reason that allowed her to sit quietly at a park bench, eating salt and vinegar chips with one hand and sketching the people around her with the other.

It was because here, the Rivera name meant what it had meant to Alicia for all these years: nothing.

* * *

Ideally, one will make contact with their mark three times.

* * *

The first was always the easiest. All the con man had to do was gain sight of their victim, their mark, and study them without being overtly obvious. With one look, he thought that this was going to be one easy job to pull. From another bench and from behind a magazine, he immediately found her sitting in the crowded park.

While she wasn't as glamorous as he expected a Rivera daughter to be, his eighteen year old guy self couldn't help but notice that she wasn't exactly hard on the eyes. Surprisingly, the thrift shop clothing and ratty trainers camouflaged her among the the other homeless-chic hipsters around her. If it wasn't for the picture of her in his hand, he wouldn't have noticed her.

_She drew with her left hand_, he noted, _and ate with her righ_t. But before he could use that as a vulnerability, she almost effortlessly switched the charcoal to her right hand and continued drawing. Ambidextrous. That could be a problem.

Still, he had achieved his goal. He had saw her. And that was all that mattered.

---

The second time was the most important. In special cases like these, it was almost imperative to actually have a few works with the mark. To establish trust, primarily, but also to gain more information. Usually, that contact consisted of absent minded chatter of the weather, or a collision with a quick apology. Maybe even a smile.

Like a seasoned pro, he strolled by her casually, as if he was another person spending a beautiful day outside. She was utterly immersed in her drawing, frowning and scrunching her eyebrows when she got a detail wrong. But, she had gotten a detail wrong, a crucial mistake.

She had unintentionally created a talking point.

---

"Whoa," he said, stopping dead in his tracks to look at the girl's drawing. She didn't look up. "That's bloody brilliant." His accent wasn't as thick as the other Londoners, he sounded like somebody who had left for a while and had recently came back.

Finally, her gaze met his. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. With messy dark hair, a mischievous grin, and blue _and _green eyes- she had never seen somebody as handsome as him. Or maybe, she had just never seen somebody was as handsome as him and seemed to appreciate her art. Most of the boys at her private school saw art as something you just purchased to prove your wealth.

He had to suppress another smile at how quickly she collected herself. She cleared her throat. "Thanks," she said hoarsely, wiping her charcoal covered hands on her pants.

"You're American?" he asked quizzically. A rookie mistake: having the wrong accent when you're trying to blend in. If the brief raise of the eyebrows were any indication, she had caught it as well.

She nodded. "Yeah, I'm just visiting," she answered calmly, almost too calmly.

"Vacation?"

A tiny smirk appeared on her face. "You could say that." With a curt nod, she returned to her drawing as if the conversation had never happened. The boy was confused for half a second, because that wasn't the way he intended the conversation to go, and amiably strolled away.

---

The third time was the execution. This is where it counted. This was the make it or break it time.

He had cornered her again. This time at a little coffee cart where she was sipping a mocha latte and chatting with the girl at the stand about which clothing stores she should check out while she was here. If a lifetime of living the typical Rivera lifestyle had prepared her for something, it was making meaningless conversation with those around her. Inconspicuously, he pulled out his wallet and simply waited for her to turn around.

And she did.

"Oh, hello again," she greeted quickly, taking a rather large gulp of her drink.

He smiled, but this time it was genuine. He definitely wasn't faking interest now. "Hey, Alicia," he replied, putting as much emphasis on her first name as he possibly could. For a split second, a flash of worry crossed her eyes. But just as quickly as it came, it melted into pure ennui. Lidded eyes. Pursed lips. Casual slouch. He didn't have to be an expert on her to know that this was her battle stance.

There were many questions she could have asked at that moment. _"Who are you and how do you know my name?"_ for starters. Maybe a blunt _"get the hell away from me" _to add a little more spunk. Instead, she ran a finger around the ring of her drink and let out the tiniest sigh before asking a question that he hadn't exactly been anticipating.

"How much is he paying you?" she asked in such a low and raspy voice that he had to strain his ears to hear it. He gestured for her to walk with him along the crowded streets. Mostly so the nosy girl serving coffee would stop licking her lips at him and to see if Alicia would follow. To his surprise, she did. She could have ran, that idea had flashed her mind. But, she also wanted answers. And you don't get answers by running.

He didn't skip a beat. "More than you could, love."

She scoffed. "I find that hard to believe." Her grip tightened over her purse.

"Believe it," he replied, lightly grabbing her arm to steer her away from impending traffic. "Len Rivera isn't what I would call a poor man."

She mulled over his response and finally cleared her throat again. "More or less than 250,000?" A few people around them cast them peculiar glances, so she lowered her gaze to the cracked pavements and lowered her voice even more.

He shot her a wide, winning grin. "What would be the fun in telling you?" he teased. Her eyes were cold and unrelenting, which wasn't a good sign at all. What he needed was compliance from her. "But I can assure you, it's enough for me to get you on the next plane to New York." In one swift motion, he pulled out his badge and most prized possession. A shiny silver badge reading "**PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR**" in big bold letters and enough certifications from the police department to make his teachers swell with pride.

She didn't bat an eyelash. "That's cute," she began dryly, "tell me, what cereal box did you get off of?" With that, she sped up her pace to a brisk stride. He had no choice but to follow her.

"Your father didn't mention your lovely sense of humor."

"My father doesn't mention me." Those were probably the truest words she had said a long, long time. He was slightly taken aback, but chalked it up to classic poor-little-rich-girl syndrome and tried hard not to roll his eyes. Oh, to be the wealthy.

She ignored his look of mild annoyance. "Look, name your price. Name your price and I promise you that in the next fifteen minutes, you'll have a fat check along with that badge of yours and you can just go tell my father you couldn't find me. Just give me a number." To prove her point, she pulled out a check book with the name printed neatly across the top.

His smile didn't falter. It only got bigger. "Do I really strike you as the sort of person who can be bought so easily?" he asked with mild curiosity, a hand running through his already messy hair.

"Everybody has a price," she answered with a shrug, "some just have higher prices than others."

He shook his head in mock seriousness. "You're right, darling. Absolutely right," he said, "and it just so happens that regardless of how much money you throw at me, you're going to get on a plane with me to New York in the next fifteen minutes, where I'll be getting a fat check anyway."

"What makes you so sure I'll leave with you?"

"I don't know, really. I hoped I could charm you into it, now I'm not so sure." They were now ducking into a secluded alley between two old brownstone buildings, just across the street from a bus station.

She stopped dead in her tracks. "Here's something you can be sure of: the day I get on a plane with you and go back there is the day hell freezes over. Got it?" she said quietly, punctuating each syllable with as much venom as she could muster.

"Better get a coat ready, then." Before he could make a move to grab her and throw her in the nearest cab, she did something that, once again, he did not plan for.

In one fluid motion, she ripped her blouse to reveal just a hint of a purple bra (which unfortunately garnered a bit more of his attention than he'd like) and mussed up her hair to make it look like she had just walked into a twister. But, it wasn't the tears that were now pouring from her eyes or the way she started breathing quite heavily that garnered the attention of everybody else.

It was the blood curdling scream. So loud and high pitched that he actually had to cover his own ears. So loud and high pitched that nearly all the people around them whipped their heads around to see the commotion.

Before you could yell "_fire!_" a few highly imposing policemen surrounded them, each casting a glance at the crying girl with the ripped shirt and the boy who looked so utterly confused. Without even being prompted to, she pointed her finger at him and screeched, "_He! He t-tried t-to_—" They didn't even allow her to finish. That was more than enough.

While forming an even tighter circle around the boy—who stammered as he fumbled to explain the situation and pull out his badge— the policemen yelled obscenities and warnings and other very, very loud words while the girl slipped on a sweatshirt and slipped away unnoticed.

And she was unnoticed. She was unnoticed as she walked very casually to the bus stop. And she was unnoticed she paid for her ticked. The only time she wasn't, however, was while she took the window seat on the bus and looked pointedly at the scene in the alley, where one boy focused his blue and green eyes on her with a mixture of anger, amusement, and most of all, admiration.

* * *

**AN: Sorry for the delay in posting this! Thanks to all that reviewed and alerted this story so far, you all are great! I hope you all liked this chapter, be sure to leave a review :)**


	3. an american in paris

**An American In Paris**

**---  
**

There was only one thing that Alicia Rivera truly lived for, and that was art. One may ask, _"what about her family or friends_?" and she would respond with a very disheartened scoff at the question.

To her, her family was just a group of people who happened to share similar DNA. Her father was too wrapped up in work or his newest secretary. Her mother spent money like being wealthy was going out of style very soon, usually in some luxurious island with a gaggle of her similarly materialistic gal pals. And her sister? Nina was far too concerned with keeping up appearances and social standings to realize that there were indeed other people in world.

Friends were the same story. It was very hard to be a loner at Octavian Country Day, after all. Due to her heiress status (and the paparazzi's habit of following her every move), she had been on the fringes of the A-list for years now. She was invited to enough parties and knew all the right people, but she never pursued anything more. To her, they were all expendable. They were nothing but people to make aimless conversation in school, but for some reason, they took her obvious disinterest as the kind of cool that came with being from old money.

Art never bored her. Art never was more concerned with her inheritance than her personality. Art never tried to hide behind the facade of perfection.

And for those reasons alone, she flew out to Paris and headed straight for the Louvre.

* * *

Though her favorite museum in Paris was the Musee D'Orsay, visiting the Louvre was like seeing an old friend, something familiar. Still mildly rattled from her hasty exit in London and close run in with the PI, Alicia had bought a plane ticket almost immediately. However she risked recognition by checking into a relatively fancy hotel, where she could at least drown out her anxieties in a fluffy king sized bed with room service.

As they say, old habits die hard.

From the moment she stepped foot in the museum, she was instantly calmed by the clean, vaguely paint scented air and seemingly friendly tour guides with plastered smiles. The museum was packed with tourists, school children, and the occasional suburban French family who came down to Paris to see the sights. She vowed not to look like any of them, she would belong.

"_Comment allez-vous_?" A guide asked, with an unnecessarily cheery smile that came off as very Joker-esque as she handed her a map of the museum.

"_Ça Va__, merci," _she replied smoothly with a curt nod. As soon as she was away from the guide, Alicia slipped the map in her purse. It wasn't like she was going to need it, she knew the Louvre like she knew her credit card pins: by heart.

While most of the visitors to the Louvre flocked to the Mona Lisa, Alicia had always preferred the Sully, Denon, and Richelieu wings, an entire collection devoted to drawings and prints. While she did like to visit the paintings and sculptures, the fact that some artists could create so much depth in black and white on plain paper never ceased to amaze her. And of course, that was inspiration to her own artistic endeavors.

Also, this section of the museum wasn't nearly as packed as the rest. With a slow pace, she looked from piece to piece with a careful eye. She willed herself to look at every single one, trying to see the meaning and technique of the artist, all things her beloved art teacher Miss Inez would have wanted. She took in the details of engraving, shading, and use of space.

In fact, the only detail that she didn't notice was the boy who had sauntered up right next to her and said, "Hello, Alicia."

* * *

Alicia had never been fond of surprises.

* * *

Though his hair was still messy and he still had that devilish look on his face, Alicia did not want to admit that he still looked good. But, there was something else behind his mismatched eyes. He was tired, and it was showing. Something told her that he hadn't had the best seat on the plane here.

That didn't stop him, however, from grinning a very wicked grin. "We just have to stop meeting like this, darling." If it wasn't for the security guards who were now watching their almost dramatic meeting with curiosity, Alicia would have most likely kicked him in the shin as hard as she could and ran.

"What are you doing here?" she asked with a huff of annoyance, not even trying to keep a cool appearance. "Thought the police took care of you." She recalled their meeting in London with a grimace.

He shrugged easily. "They did. They drove me all the way down to the police department—" Alicia had stifle a laugh. "—and then released me when they realized that you had disappeared. Turns out you were the only witness. They had to let me go." The urge to laugh was gone.

"So I-" she began doubtfully.

"Pretty much set me free?" he finished. "Thanks for that, love. That was a sly bit of trickery, by the way. I was worried, I always thought I was too pretty for jail..."

Biting her lip, she struggled to think of what to ask him next. He knew too much and she had seriously underestimated his PI training, that was obvious enough. But how? "How did you know I was here? In Paris?" That would have to suffice.

"Simple," he answered, almost sounding bored, "You're an artist, aren't you? And where do all the great artists go?"

"Paris?" she asked quizzically.

"No, Florence." He briefly winked at a rather leggy tour guide walking by with a cluster of students before elaborating. One of the students, however, stuck out to Alicia. With the same physical features as Alicia—from a distance, they would look almost identical. Minus the (presumably British college) uniform and Groucho Marx eyebrows. "But Paris was second. Plus, the Louvre is here. And the Musee D'Orsay. I figured you'd be all over that."

His knowledge was based purely on coincidence and luck, and if was as good as he must've been for her father to hire him- he definitely had something up his sleeves. Seeing her skeptic expression, he added hastily in a low whisper, "You're using a credit card, aren't you? Doesn't matter if Daddy Dearest doesn't know about it, _somebody _does. And you're leaving a trail. Even if your name isn't attached, it's still a trail. Want my advice?"

She cocked an eyebrow, willing herself not to say yes.

"Use cash. Because that pretty little card of yours is leading me right to you." He shook his head in mock disappointment. "What are they teaching you in those fancy private schools?"

Her stomach started to flip and turn, Alicia knew he was right and that she made a mistake. But, she was in such a rush that she figured using her card just this once wouldn't hurt her. It did. But surely hell would have to freeze over first before this boy could know that.

She simply tutted in disapproval and whipped her head around. Not to let him ruin her day or give him the opportunity to try to coerce her to go back to New York, she started walking along and continued her study of the drawings. The two were silent, and she could only hope that he was focusing on the art as she was (and also hoped that he forgot that he had saw her obnoxiously colored bra.)

The silence was broken as he mused, "I like this one." He gestured to the drawing next to the one she was so engrossed in, _Drapery for a Seated Figure_. "Rembrandt was always one of my favorites, you know."

Without even looking at the label on the drawing, she corrected him. "It's Da Vinci," she said sternly. She knew one when she saw one.

"I know," he said dryly, "I just wanted to see if you did."

She set her hands on her hips. "What makes you think I wouldn't know?"

"I tend to underestimate people." He didn't look away from the drawing as he said it.

"Even me?" she couldn't help but ask.

"Not. Any. More." Each syllable was punctuated with an unmistakable asset: the truth.

She paused and mulled over his answer. Those words were just too familiar to her, and it took several seconds before she could realize why. Those five words summed up her view of others, and though she was just realizing it, it was a very dangerous view to have. She had underestimated this guy and he had found her within hours.

She needed a new plan.

With the skill of a jaded Upper East Sider, she whirled their semi-conversation in another direction, namely a direction that put the ball in her court for once. "You have such a way with women, do you know that?" she stated, dripping with sarcasm.

He raised an eyebrow. "I've heard that," he replied nonchalantly, "I just didn't think I'd hear it from you." It took everything in her power not roll her eyes at the first part of his statement, but she managed.

"I mean," she began, continuing her steady pace, "you fly all the way to Paris to see me—"

"More like to get you back home so I can collect my paycheck," he interjected quickly. She was making him nervous, this was working.

"—you know that I love art, hell, you probably know a lot about me. But you?" Her voice almost cracked a little, though not intentional. "I don't even know your name. If you think I'm going to go to New York with you, then we need to establish some trust."

He snorted at that. "What kind of trust? Is this one of those things you girls do at slumber parties?" Now, he was full out laughing at her and the sound of each chuckle echoed through the corridor. "Going to paint my nails after?"

"I'm serious," she said stubbornly, "I need to know something about you. Besides the fact that you're a PI who was somehow hired by my dad and underestimates people, because honestly, that's not enough for me to work with."

He stopped dead in his tracks. "Fine. You want to know about me?" She nodded hastily. "Alright. My name's Cam Fisher. I'm eighteen. I live in Queens with my best friends in a rather crowded flat above a deli." He paused for a moment. "I also enjoy long walks on the beach."

"Good to know," Alicia snorted. "And the accent?"

"Genuine," he responded with a smile, "I lived in Bristol with my mum until I was sixteen. Then, I moved to New York to stay with my dad." His eyes grew cloudy, her intuition told her that there was more to the story. But, she didn't question it. She was full of parental issues herself.

"I still visit a lot," he added.

"You're young," she said slowly, the wheels turning in her head, "why become a PI right now?" To graduate and work in the police department at eighteen meant he was miles better than she could ever think.

"Because, I don't know any other job where I can chase pretty girls around the world and make small talk in a museum," Cam replied pointedly. It was all she could do to calm down her heart rate and make sure that rising blush never reached her cheeks.

Now, she needed an escape. Fast.

"So," she coughed, "I suppose you're going to ask me to go home." In the corner of her eye, she made a note of the schedule for museum tours. The next one was in ten minutes,

"If by ask, you mean tell, then yeah. That's pretty much what's going to happen," he agreed lazily, yawning and revealing a sliver of a tan, flat stomach as he stretched. Alicia tried hard not to stare, but she was just reminded of how utterly pathetic she was to focus on that little detail when she needed to get out of the museum immediately. If she had an ounce of Nina's abilities with boys, she could have flirted her way to Australia by now.

"It's a shame," Alicia sighed. "This could have been fun."

"What could have been fun?" he queried, frowning.

"Not much," she mused as she sneaked a casual look at her watch. "It could have been fun to play this game, you know? You chasing me, me running away? Like tag, right? But now—" She clicked her tongue. "—I guess you are just like the other PIs. Boring. By the book."

Those words must have struck a chord with him. "How am I, and I quote, _by the book_? Maybe you don't understand, but I'm not playing any games. I have a job to do." Gone was the coy, bemused tone. Now, he meant business.

Luckily, so did she. "Are not playing because you don't want to—" She forced herself to make eye contact. "—or because you don't know how?"

He didn't say anything, but his scrunched up eyebrows told her that she was onto something. "Look," she began quietly, "you're good. You know that. I know that. But you know what? I'm good too. I made it to London without anybody recognizing me, that counts for something. So, the least you can do is agree to this: if you let me go right now with a few minute's head start, I'm going to be out of the country faster than you can say _au revoir_."

"And your point?"

She exhaled. "If you can find me again, then I'll leave. Okay? I'll go back home, no surprises or escape attempts." Alicia kept her tone even. Any hint of pleading or frustration and he may not agree.

Cam ran a hand through his hair in contemplation. "You're telling me to let you go so you can run away again? And then I can find you?" He let out a hoarse chuckle. 'Darling, you're more whacked out than I thought if you think I'm going to let that happen."

She held her ground. "Are you saying you wouldn't be able to find me?" They were approaching the foyer to the Richelieu wing now.

"Please," he snorted, "you could change your name, your face, and stay in the most remote hut in the Arctic and I could still find you without breaking a sweat. I didn't graduate early because of my good looks, you know."

"So you agree?" Time was running out.

"I'm not saying that."

If there was one skill that Alicia ever inherited from her father, it was negotiation. And years of studying her father and his hostile takeovers taught her one thing: if all else fails, bribe them. "Would you say yes if I made my father throw in an extra ten grand?" she asked innocently, with a smirk of her own.

A slow smile stretched on his face. There wasn't even a moment's hesitation before he said, "In that case, yes." She didn't blame him. But, then again, she didn't expect for him to find her next time.

"Five minute head start?"

"Make it ten. I'm feeling lucky."

* * *

Alicia had a love-hate relationship with the crowded foyer of the Louvre.

Most days, she hated it.

But, now, she was in love with every single person in the huge masses of people that allowed her to walk around without being caught. She loved that she was just another face in the crowd. She loved that nobody thought it was suspicious for her to join the group of students from Ellington College in Leeds. She loved that none of the students said anything or even noticed the only person not in uniform among them.

But most of all she loved the way that she could oh so discreetly brush against the girl who had resembled her so much. She slipped the girl's wallet and passport in her pocket within a few seconds, and then walked out of the museum as if nothing strange had occurred at all.

* * *

**AN: Hope you all dig this chapter, Alicia/Cam banter is fun for me to write. I love smarmy Cam and sneaky Alicia. Be sure to tell me what you thought of this chapter with a review! Thanks for everybody who has reviewed so far, those reviews always make my day :D**

**ps: I'm sorry if I got something wrong about the Louvre, I've never been there xD  
**


	4. viva italia

**Viva Italia**

---

Cameron R. Fisher had always been something of an enigma.

At fifteen, he was labeled as the classic underachiever. He slept through lectures, listened to music instead of doing classwork, and was often caught using textbooks as a pillow or sketch oddly elaborate pictures in the margins instead of studying. And yet, he aced almost every exam he sat that year. Some teachers called him a genius. Others called him a waste of time.

But everyone called him mystery.

At sixteen, he was reckless. He had a complete disregard for rules, authority, and personal safety. He was the guy you wanted to be with when you felt like rebelling against the confines of everyday life. The days of innocently not paying attention to class were replaced with ditching school all together to play pool, smoke, or see a movie. While those, in hindsight, weren't as bad as they seemed at the time- they were the gateway into bigger and better things.

Namely, theft. A distraction. A sleight of hand. A _talent_.

Stealing a soda turned into stealing a pen. Stealing a pen had turned into stealing a watch. Stealing a watch had somehow turned into stealing a mint condition Mercedes Benz from the dealer without being noticed.

Stealing a car had turned into, well, a criminal record.

At seventeen, he changed more than new zip code. With a one way ticket to New York and his father's address, Cam had turned into someone else. He attended school and actually paid attention, even taking night classes after soccer practice (something had to replace the habit of thievery and smoking) so he could graduate early. With honors. He was never caught doing something that would even constitute as illegal.

His father, who had been expecting the criminal his mother mad him out to be, was utterly confused. His mother didn't buy the personality transplant. His new teachers adored him. His old mates said he went soft.

But anybody who knew Cam Fisher at the age of sixteen was completely stunned beyond words when he announced that he was made the youngest private investigator in history of his department. Some said it was impossible because he had a criminal record. Others believed he had the right connections. Many, needless to say, claimed he had a lobotomy and therefore he had no clue as to what he was doing at all.

At eighteen, however, he did have a clue as to what he was doing. As he stepped off his rather quick flight to Florence, he knew that the girl who had been giving him quite the hard time was here. Not because he had gotten one of the ladies at the airport cross search any names containing the letters from "_Alicia Rivera_" into the database (because it wasn't there), or because he had seen a girl resembling her at the French embassy demanding a passport (because it wasn't her.)

He knew she was there because if she was every bit as good as she claimed she was— and he was starting to believe her—she would go the one place where he would expect to look. Somewhere he had mentioned before, somewhere that made sense for her character.

And maybe, and he wasn't sure yet, because she would want to be found. 

* * *

  
The first thing Cam had noticed was that she changed her appearance. Alicia's wavy dark locks were now cut choppily to her ears, with a side fringe shielding her eyes. She had aptly ditched the thrift store outfits for a clean pair of jeans, a loose purple t-shirt, and flats. Trendy enough to blend in, but not edgy enough for anyone to remember or even notice., something that her passive expression only helped.

She _was_ good.

As he spotted her sitting down doing a crossword puzzle at an outdoor cafe (from a safe distance across the street, of course), he quickly realized that he wasn't the only one watching her. Two tables over, a group of loud local guys kept looking over to her and making what seemed to be very crude conversation, judging by their smug looks. Cam didn't speak Italian, but he was fluent in the language of hitting-on-girls and he understood what was about to happen.

One of the guys stood up and strutted over to Alicia. For pure observational reasons, Cam discreetly took a table in the cafe. And also because he was extremely curious as to how she would respond—quick put-down or slap in the face?

Now, the guy had taken the empty seat next to her. It was a full eleven seconds before she even registered him being there, which put a tiny grin on Cam's face.

He leaned into Alicia, obviously trying to be seductive but failing, and said something to her. She raised her eyebrows in contempt and returned to her crossword puzzle without a response. He ignored her unsubtle dis and continued talking to her, and Cam could pick out some words from the conversation, like "dancing" and "tonight." Something told him, namely the look of mild disgust on her face, that she wasn't too fond of dancing.

Cam had never been more entertained in his life. Their little exchange went on for several minutes, and the guy wouldn't take no for an answer. She hadn't actually said a word to him, she just kept ignoring him so he would go away. The guy, obviously believing he had caught himself a naive tourist (and she was anything but), kept pestering her. He was getting too close, speaking too loudly, and smirking far too much.

Until she snapped.

With the spit fire that he had come to expect from him, Alicia let out a quick speech in Italian, albeit American accented Italian. Her eyes were flaring, her fists curled, and it looked like her head might actually explode from anger. A quick look at the guy and the other patron's faces made it extremely obvious that she was rejecting him in the cruelest way possible. And yet when she was done and returned to her crossword defiantly, he brushed the little incident off and smiled at her like she had just proclaimed her love for him.

Time to intervene. He could barely handle a runaway heiress, a murderous runaway heiress was pushing it.

In a few smooth steps, Cam plopped down on the other side of Alicia and threw an arm casually around her. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, but the curt nod he gave her was enough explanation: _"go with it."_

Her dense would-be suitor glared at Cam. "_Chi è_?" he snarled, with his mates laughing loudly at his expense.

Alicia didn't miss a beat. If anything, she moved her chair closer to him, her short hair tickling his chin and ears. Throwing Cam the sweetest smile possible, she said, "_Il mio ragazzo_." She mouthed "_boyfriend_" quickly to explain. Her harasser's face fell dejectedly.

Without another word, the guy stood up and spit at the ground next to them. He walked dejectedly back to his table, and within a few humiliating moments, he and his pack of friends were gone.

"Pity," Cam said to break the quiet air, "he seemed like a keeper."

Alicia scoffed and pushed his arm off of her. "Yeah, I'm absolutely devastated that he got away," she snorted.

"At least you got a new boyfriend instead," he sighed, batting his eyelashes at her jokingly. "When's our anniversary, darling?"

She rolled her eyes. "Today. I'd like a plane ticket to Zimbabwe, please."

"Why? I hear your family's Manhattan penthouse is lovely this time of year." After all, he wasn't going to let her forget the reason he was here. He did win their little game by finding her so quickly, but he had a feeling there was no real prize.

Usually at this point, she would ask him how he found her—usually with a thin veil of malice. Then, they would engage in some sort of banter until she managed to get away. It was their script. But this time, Alicia went off the script and improvised.

Swirling her ice tea with a straw, she didn't look him in the eye. "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?" he asked, though they both knew he was fully aware of what she was asking.

"You know," she said, "get rid of that guy for me. Make him think you're my boyfriend. That."

Cam shrugged. "What can I say, I have a thing for damsels in distress." He paused before adding, "and you looked seriously distressed."

If she had stuck to the script, she would have responded with a comment about how he shouldn't have helped her out because she didn't need it. Instead, she whispered in a low voice, "Thanks." Then, she regained her normal brisk tone. "I should have just punched him the face."

"Nah," Cam waved his hand carelessly, "you're more of a kicker, I think. The whole ball buster thing suits you."

She nodded gravely. "You know, that's exactly what I told the school career counselor. Apparently, ball busting isn't an actual job. What a shame." She smiled a bit, and it was the first joke that they had shared together and not at the expense of each other.

"There's always the family business."

"Oh?" Her eyebrows shot up. "Like banging secretaries two at a time, suing people for looking at you the wrong way, or getting drunk before ten in the morning?" Her tone was light, but her words were pure lead.

Cam shook his head in disbelief. "That sounds fantastic," he said eagerly, "any chance I can join your family?" There was a part of him who, despite having met Mr. and Mrs. Rivera and their luxe lifestyle, couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that people really lived like that.

"Feel free to take my place." Before she could say more, a waitress appeared at their side. From what he could make of it, Alicia ordered for the both of him. He mystified at her language skills, her confidence in her speaking abilities even if her own accent was apparent.

She turned to face him again. "I got you panzanella, if that's okay. It's like a bread salad, good in this heat." Cam had barely noticed the perfect, sweltering summer day. The sun was high and there were no clouds to be seen. Tourists and wannabe scholars walked around them on the old cobbled streets. To anyone else, they looked like a boy and a girl enjoying the day together. If only they knew.

Cam leaned back in his chair. "You speak Italian?" he couldn't help but ask.

She put the cap back on her green pen and closed her crossword book. There were no mistakes and nothing was crossed out, each letter was in their correct place. "Yeah, I do. Along with French and Spanish. I'm sort of a linguaphile."

"Three languages, four if you count English?" he clarified, mulling that idea over in his head. "All the easier to run away, then."

"They made us take Latin until seventh grade," she explained defensively, "it's really easy to learn from there."

Cam snorted. "What school did you go to, Hogwarts?" The waitress had reappeared and left two plates of bread covered with tomatoes and herbs on it. As a general rule he devised when he was ten, he avoided vegetables like the plague. But, heiress hunting made him ravenous and he started eating without a second thought.

"Don't make me hex you," she joked, taking a big bite of panzanella. Something was up, she was acting far too nice. Far too unguarded. It was almost as if they were playing chess, and she had just sacrificed her queen. Maybe it was a major move, maybe it was foolishness.

They ate in silence, with only the chatter of other patrons between them. It was an odd feeling to be sitting with her and enjoying some food, but then again, almost everything about her was odd. No doubt about it.

"So," she began, finishing off her panzanella, "how crazy were they when they found out?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," she spoke slowly, as if talking to a little child, "my family. My parents. My sister." She sighed with a victorious smile. "Go on, how bad was it? Paint me a picture. I imagine a lot of expletives and sobbing."

Cam swallowed his food with a lump in his throat. From the moment his detective department had sent him to the Rivera house to track down their daughter, he had braced himself for an abundance of mental anguish— something that Alicia seemed to be expecting as well. How was he supposed to break it to her that Mr. Rivera's lawyer, her art teacher, and the house help were the only people who briefed him on what he needed to know about her?

How could he tell her that her father spent more time yelling into the phone about how this all better not get to the media? Or how her mother simply shrugged and assumed Alicia was staying with some friends in Monaco, and then went to go make a drink? Or how her sister was more occupied pouting about how her "_art freak_" sister was going to ruin her charity gala while simultaneously trying to get Cam's number?

Simple. He couldn't. No matter how much Alicia seemed to be aware of how much her family sucked, this was just too much. So, he did what he always did best when he didn't know what to do. Lie.

"They were upset," he said dazedly, not entirely bluffing. _Just not about you_, he mentally finished for himself, mostly.

Then, many emotions flashed through her eyes. Hurt. Anger. Confusion. And then, when her brown eyes stopped whirring and darkened, apathy.

Standing up, she dropped her bag on her chair with a resounding "_thud_". She was blank of any emotion, except for the little half smile that her lips found themselves curling up in. "You know, you're a lot of things, Cam Fisher." His eyes widened at the return of her own guarded self.

"I didn't think a liar was one of them," she finished with a hint of hostility, making a beeline for the cafe's inside entrance. "I'm going to the bathroom. Watch my stuff." As she walked away, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of guilt. He should have just told her the truth and made a joke about it, she would probably grin and make a snide retort and everything would be the way it was again.

Five minutes passed and she wasn't back. Then ten. Then fifteen.

Twenty minutes later, Cam grabbed her patched up messenger back and headed for the bathrooms. After narrowly dodging a few old women who just knew he was up to know good, he pounded on the single woman's restroom. No response.

"Alicia?" he called out. "Alicia, come out, I know you're in there." More pounding, his fist was getting redder by the moment. He couldn't hear anything besides the running water of the sink, she had to be in there.

Throwing all caution to the wind, Cam pushed the doors open with as much force as he could open. He was gobsmacked at what he found, but he couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh at his own carelessness.

The window had been kicked open, the sweet summer air pouring into the musty stall seemed to be laughing at him as well. The sink was still running haphazardly, and as he turned to shut it, a note scribbled in green ink stuck to the dirty mirror caught his attention.

_"C,_

Game on.

-A"

She was gone.

* * *

**AN: Brand spankin' new chapter :D Alicia is a sneaky little fox, isn't she?**

**Thanks for the reviews, guys, they're awesome. Makes me want to update faster, along with writing Cam/Alcia banter xD**

**Reviews for this chapter would be absolutely lovely.**

**xo, Ren.  
**


	5. casablanca

**Casablanca**

By now, one could rightfully assume that Alicia Rivera was not exactly a social butterfly. In fact, had she attended the gallery at the Monroe-Fitz Museum where her art work was to be featured instead of the Rivera's annual Hope For Health gala— she may have never ran away.

But she did attend the Hope For Health gala, and lost much of her own mental health in the process.

With a name like _Hope For Health_, one would think that the center of the event would revolve around fund raising for hospitals or medical research. Wrong. Instead, it was an opportunity for the obscenely wealthy to flaunt their status and money under the pretense of helping the less fortunate. Sure, there was the charity auction and donation ceremony, but it was more of a competition for families to see who was much more _generous_ (read: willing to spend thousands at the drop of a hat)

Usually, Alicia didn't mind the gala. As long as the money was going to people who truly deserved it, she figured, what was there to complain about? But, she had thrown a fit worthy of a bratty five year old when her parents announced that her presence was requested at the gala. It would've been nice to feel needed by her absentee parents for no specific reason, if only for the fact that it was the same night her series of self-portraits (aptly titled _A Girl In Progress_) was to debut to the New York art scene. She had been practically salivating in excitement of getting to have her art in a gallery, a real gallery with artists that she's been watching for years.

So, she said no, she wouldn't go. They didn't listen.

Somehow through a series of threats (take away her studio, withdraw her from art classes, etc.), Alicia made it to the gala. Albeit, with a scowl. To make matters worse, Mrs. Rivera had forced her youngest daughter in a hideous dark blue dress_—_ tailored in a way to create the allusion of curves (and failed at that). Alicia had planned on wearing a bright yellow dress she had picked up from a little shop on the lower west side, her last saving grace. Pair that navy atrocity with a pair of heels, a diamond necklace, and four hours in a salon_—_she looked nothing like herself.

She looked like Nina. Or someone trying to look like Nina.

But, Alicia put on the bravest face she could as she strolled into the grand ballroom of the Fairmont Hotel. If she could make it through one night of people pretending to care about her life, she could shake it off tomorrow and spend the whole day painting. One night, and she would owe nothing more to her family.

In one night, however, everyone in her family disappointed her.

It started with her mother. While Alicia was chatting with the only guest she could stand, NYU art major Kori Geldman, about the programs there. Before Alicia had a chance to ask about studying abroad, Nadia Rivera pulled her into her circle of socialite friends.

"Katerina," her mother beamed her signature megawatt smile at a middle aged waifish blond, "this is Alicia." With a second look, Alicia deducted that the blond was older than her Chanel age defying makeup would lead you to believe.

Katerina quickly grabbed the arm of a boy walking by, with the same blond hair and different wolfish grin. The lurch of her stomach and sudden urge to vomit only confirmed the fact that, yes, Katerina was Derrick Harrington's mother. However, unlike Alicia, Derrick looked positively excited to find her in such a tight dress and sky high heels.

"And," Katerina practically sang, "this is Derrick." She shot Alicia an impish smile. "But you already know that, of course. By going to the same school and all." While Alicia and Derrick both attended Octavian Country Day and had some mutual friends, they had never exchanged more than pleasantries. Derrick went through girls like Alicia went through paint brushes: often and almost sickeningly so. The very last thing Alicia wanted to be was one of Derrick's girl-of-the-week.

Alicia's mother and Katerina exchanged conspiring glances. "We thought it would absolutely wonderful for you two to enjoy the gala together, seeing as our families will be much _closer _in the next few weeks," Nadia giggled. Then, something clicked. Harrington Law Firm and Rivera Incorporated were currently working on a court case (involving nasty allegations of a Rivera Inc. executive). Suddenly, it all made sense to Alicia. The hair, the dress, the makeup. Her family didn't want her here for _her_, they wanted her there to seal the multi-million dollar deal between the Harrington Law Firm and her father's company.

Which of course meant playing nice with the Harrington's playboy son.

If her anger was boiling up to her eyes, it didn't show. "Alicia, darling?" her mother's voice was faint in the whirlwind of Alicia's mind, "did you hear me? We might all go to Turk and Caicos together in the summer." Then, she had the nerve to smile. "Won't it be fun?"

Alicia's hard brown eyes examined her mother, Katerina, and Derrick. This life. Their words. Everything. It was too, too much. Keeping her tone as even as possible, she managed to cough out, "Excuse me, but I need to leave for a moment." With about as much grace as ballerina and as much pure force as a hurricane, Alicia hurried away, willing herself to be like a statue and crack anymore.

But, even the best statues have their weaknesses. Alicia made the mistake of showing hers to Nina on her quick getaway. For the first time in a long time, she was glad to see her sister. Tears of relief started to form in her eyes, maybe she didn't have to be perfect in front of Nina. Nina was safe, familiar. She shouldn't have to keep up with appearances with her.

"Nina," Alicia breathed out, grabbing the arm of her sister and pulling her in a secluded corner of the party, "you won't believe what kind of bull Mom is trying to pull_—_"

Nina's beautiful face twisted in an ugly manner, full of contempt and disgust. "Really, Alicia," she said testily as if talking to the scum of the earth and not her own flesh and blood, "don't mess up your makeup by crying. We're taking pictures in a few minutes." With a huff, Nina swished around and headed over to the Block's table to make polite conversation. From a distance, Alicia could see her laughing jovially at something one of her vapid friends said, completely ignoring the navy blue dress clad shadow in the background.

Just when Alicia had ran to the bathroom for some calming breathing exercises and touched up her makeup, her father called her out and just about out-did her mother and sister in the cruel department. Mid-way through the event, her father waved her over to him and a few of his important colleagues who wanted to meet the spawn of one of the country's richest men.

"Everyone, this is Alicia," Len Rivera introduced her warmly. Alicia had seldom heard this voice from him and was more used to his cool business tone. But, she was going to cling to her cover as a statue, even if it killed her. Stoic. Indifferent. Unemotional. Un-anything.

A gray haired man in glasses beamed at her and Alicia suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "I assume you're going to follow in your father's footsteps in business?" he asked, but it was more of a statement than anything else. The group of people surrounding them looked at her expectantly, including her father.

Without thinking, she replied, "I'm going the art route, actually." There was a collective widening of eyes at her honest response, like it had never occurred to them that the daughter of somebody as successful as Len Rivera would have interests beyond being Len Rivera's daughter.

Her father's steely gaze settled on her. Though he kept the friendly, lighthearted tone, Alicia knew he was dead serious when he said, "Oh, art is_ just_ a hobby for Alicia. She'll be going to Princeton, like her old man. For business, perhaps even engineering." Her stomach plummeted faster than a roller coaster, mouth going dry and cheeks reddening. She felt like he had struck her in the face. How could he put down the one thing in her life that she loved? And in front of people like _them._

Maybe it was her mother's pathetic attempts as using her daughter as a pawn in a wealthy man's chess game. Or maybe it was Nina's expression of obvious dislike for her own sister. Or maybe it was her father's certainty that she'd end up like him. Maybe it was all of the above.

Maybe she was more like her _old man _than she thought, because she plastered on her brightest smile and said, "Excuse me. I need to go for a moment." And then promptly walked as quickly as she could away from her father and their gala. She didn't stop walking until she passed the hotel's lobby and stopped only to kick off of her heels and sprint away into the cool night air. The faster she ran, the clearer everything got to her. The speed and wind were her best friends, coaxing her into thinking about what's best for her. The slap of her bare feet on the pavement told her she had to act fast. Now. Now. Now.

So, she left. And didn't look back.

* * *

If Alicia smoked, this would be the moment in her life where she'd sigh dramatically and say, "I need a cigarette." Due to that impulse to be impulsive, she was scouring the streets of Casablanca for a shop that sold them. Call it crazy if you must, but nothing was actually crazier than jumping out of an Italian bathroom window and flying out to Morocco out of pure anger directed not at the boy who followed her, but for her family for not chasing her.

And sometimes, you need some insanity to balance out the chaos.

The lights of the city were fluorescent, but none as bright as the moon that shone down on her. The streets were dreadfully crowded, full of locals heading out to enjoy the nightlife before the hot sun settled in for the day. A part of her felt reckless for being alone at night in a strange city, but part of her felt like was necessary. She figured if nothing had happened to her yet, she might as well try to stretch her luck.

Most of the shops were closed for the night, but people still mulled in and out, chatting with the owners and drinking coffee. When her feet started to ache and the jet lag settled in, she decided she might as well stop at a shop-slash-cafe and grab a coffee of her own.

The shop was medium sized, but almost every square inch was decorated with Persian carpets, chintz chairs, tables, and various knick-knacks. It smelled strongly of incense and other spices, a shocking aroma that made her mouth almost water. Though all of the patrons were speaking Arabic to each other, Alicia understood that this was home. Home to all of these people, laughing and chattering and just being together because they wanted to, not because they were forced.

"_Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine_. " Her observations, typically, were interrupted by an annoyingly familiar voice. How ironic of him to quote one of the most romantic movies of all time, and for her to want to kill him for it. The signature element of Cam Fisher was definitely surprise, and she couldn't help but be impressed at his tracking skills. So impressed, that when he led her to a private table in the back away from the noise, she didn't protest.

Not that he was going to know that. "How," she choked out, "did you_—_"

"I didn't." he said simply with a grin. "You came to me, love."

"You knew I would come here? To this cafe?" she answered slowly, settling into the comfortable seat and taking the pressure off of her feet. "There's this new thing called a restraining order, don't know if you've ever heard about it..."

He pulled a passport out of his pocket and flipped it open. "You left your bag, remember? I assume you had a copy made before hand, of course." He studied her face for a moment and then the photograph. "Penelope Moritz, eh? I don't want to get your ego up, but you're easier on the eyes than her."

Alicia huffed and rolled her eyes. "So let me guess. You searched the name in the database and found out I not only flew out of the country, but out of the continent." She slouched in her seat, assuming her most indifferent position. "Obviously, if a girl is jumping the borders to get away from you_—_she's not interested," she finished coolly.

"I won, you know," Cam said after a beat, taking a long sip of his coffee, "I found you. In Italy. I won, you said you'd go home if I won." Alicia had to stifle a laugh at his earnestness. He sounded like a frustrated seven year old who was angry nobody was sticking to the rules of kickball.

"Cam," she said with an exasperated sigh, "haven't you realized that if I stuck to my promises, I'd still be in Manhattan?" Before he had the chance to dispute her claim, she stood up and marched to the shop's counter. Unfortunately, she only made it halfway before she felt a strong grip on her forearm.

"Oh, no you don't," said Cam seriously. There was no mischief or spark in his eyes, no enigmatic half smile on his full lips. No flirt, no witty comebacks. He was all business. "I let you leave in London, Paris, and Florence. It's not happening in Morocco." If the other patrons thought it was odd behavior, they didn't let on.

Alicia considered her options. She had just outed herself as a liar, so negotiating was out of the options. She couldn't start a scene in the cafe, it was too packed and loud. And there was no way in hell she could make a break for it, he had a tight hold on her. She, to put it simply, dug herself in a hole with no way out. Except...

"The roof," she blurted out, recalling the reason she wanted to come in here. "Can we talk there?" She cocked a hip in an attempt to look confident. "I need some air. You can come with." Even if the word "air" should have been rightly substituted with "cigarette", she felt compelled to mentally applaud herself on the quick lie. Getting to the roof was easy, but escaping off of it would be an entirely different story.

Cam's blue and green eyes (Alicia favored the green one) darkened in hesitation. The fatigue was starting to show on his handsome face, and he looked like he was not only tired, but just done with everything life had to throw at him. She could hear the ticking noise of a clock in the back of her mind, taunting and telling her that she was Cinderella in the most twisted fairytale ever_—_and it's dangerously close to midnight. "Fine. You've got an hour."

And an hour was all she would need.

* * *

Three minutes, a newly bought pack of cigarettes, and a flight of stairs later_—_Alicia and Cam were on the roof. It was smaller than she had expected, but the canvas of clear night sky out in front of them made up for it. In an ideal world, Alicia would have been able to enjoy the full moon and glittering stars, instead of shivering and clumsily attempting to light her smoke.

"You look right stupid, you know," Cam said finally, after watching her flicking the lighter for the seventh time. No flame yet. He took the lighter and cigarette from her hands, the warm touch of his palm made her stomach flip, much to her dismay. Quicker than she could blink, he had produced a flame from the lighter and lit the offending object. "Let me guess, you've never smoked before?"

At least it was dark out and he couldn't see her turn red with embarrassment. "I figured it was something I could pick up," she replied testily, desperately trying to regain her pride again.

He looked at her pointedly in disbelief before taking a long drag of the cigarette. The smoke was white as it escaped through his mouth, flying up and polluting the fresh air before dissolving into nothing at all. He ruined the moment with a hacking cough. "Don't bother. Been there. Done that. It's not worth picking up," he sputtered out, putting out the cigarette and tossing the pack off the roof. Alicia didn't fight it, she probably would have hated it. It would have made her look _right stupid, _after all.

The sounds of the crowds below them enveloped the pair in silence. They always came back to this sort of quietness when either their rapid fast rate of speaking slowed down and the daunting realization that neither one of them knew each other very well settled in. At least, that's what Alicia took from it.

"I don't understand you, Alicia," Cam's voice was hoarse and low, almost as if he was talking to himself. Alicia kept her eyes on the dusty pavement and willed herself not say "_you're not the only one_"

But he continued. "Your father is Len Rivera, the man's got to be worth _billions_. That's money billions of people aren't ever going to dream of having in their entire lives. You've got the entire world in your hands. Shit, when life was getting rough for my old mates_—_and it was _rough—_they didn't run away to Paris or Morocco or any where like that. They couldn't. So you know what they did? They faced their problems head on. Because that was the only thing they could do."

Now, his gaze was on her and unrelenting. She was sure of it. "But when I heard about the Rivera girl who ran away, I thought '_well, that girl's pretty ballsy'_, running away from a life that loads of people would kill for. I don't think that anymore." He inhaled sharply before continuing. Alicia's stomach lurched in anticipation of what was still unsaid.

"Now, I just think you're mad. Absolutely mad. Crazy. Bat shit insane," he laughed bitterly. Suddenly, the magic in the night air went away and the everything went from technicolor to a cold black and white. Vaguely, Alicia realized that him calling her mad wasn't as bad as him supposedly calling her out on being a phony. "Alicia Monet Rivera," he said softly to himself, somehow making her name sound so much more beautiful than it was, "just as crazy as your namesake."

Then, it wasn't that something snapped. No, something had positively shattered in Alicia's mind. Maybe it was the dig at Monet, maybe his thunderstorm of words was finally crashing down on her.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was that she was just done.

Gathering her belongings in a swift motion, she stood up defiantly. Her hair was blowing in the chilly wind, eyes flared, and she looked so much taller than she actually was. In that second, Alicia Rivera had truly became a statue.

"What's in it for me, Cam?" she asked, voice slightly cracking. Cam snapped to attention and gave her a look of surprise. "You think I'm a coward? Fine. You think I'm dumb for giving my life up? Okay. But you have to admit that I'm the one getting the short end of the stick here. If I go home, what do I get? A house full of people who couldn't give a damn about me leaving in the first place?" Her voice was powerful and completely confident, the truth was so good to hear for once.

"The only reason they sent _you _to find me," she sneered, not even caring about how she came off to him, "is so that they won't get any trouble from the media or society or anyone else's opinion they care about. I know that. _You_ know that. A ticket back home is a ticket to hell."

Before Cam could raise an eyebrow in doubt, she continued, "And tell me, what's in it for _you_?" She didn't let him answer, she didn't want to know what he could possibly say to that. At that moment, all Alicia wanted to be was far, far away. And for the first time in her little runaway adventure, she would truly be escaping because there was nothing left to run from. Everything was out in the open, like the stars shining down on the two misfits in the dark.

She walked slowly to the fire escape, mentally willing Cam to tell her she was wrong and demand she come back. His silence was deafening. She had slipped on her coat and hitched her bag over the shoulder before he spoke again.

"Are you going to leave again?" he queried nonchalantly, standing up with a yawn to head over to her. He was casual, cool, and collected_—_he showed no signs of being even mildly effected by her words, which only left her infuriated.

"Yes," she gritted through her teeth, climbing down the first step. The roof was, needless to say, much higher up than she had expected. But, a fear of heights was nothing compared to further damaging her pride.

He sighed and sat back down on the ledge. "And I suppose you know I'm going to find you again?"

"Are you, now?" she said loftily, doubting his chances.

"And you do know that you're still the maddest girl I've ever met?" This was now or never, it was always that. Fight or flight. Something in the indifferent way he spoke to her reignited the flame that drove her away so many times.

With a deep breath and a mantra of _"don't look down_", Alicia once again put on the bravest face that she could muster. "Haven't you heard?" she yelled out to the heavens and to the boy who loved to prove her wrong, "if money can't buy happiness, it sure as hell can't buy sanity." And before he shoot back another round of bullets in the form of words, Alicia kicked her feet off the escape, held on for dear life, and flew away into the night.

* * *

**AN: Ahhhh so sorry for the long wait for this chapter, guys :/ I had loads of exams these few weeks. But, it's a length chapter at least! And more Alicia backstory :)**

**So, I'm going to wrap this story up in about the next three chapters or so. It's not really meant to be a huge epic saga haha. I have it all planned out, though, and I'm excited to write the ending chapter :)  
**

**Thanks so much for all the reviews on the last chapter, I didn't expect to get that much! You are all the best :D**

**As I always day, reviews would totally make my day heehee,**

**-Ren**

**PS: Fun fact: I chose Alicia as the main character because she's almost always portrayed as brainless/slutty/crazy etc in stories here. I wanted to completely change her character. So, now she's a flat-chested-globe-hopping-art-freak. Fun, eh? Kristen or Layne was my second choice.  
**


	6. blame it on rio

**Blame it on Rio**

Emotion is a funny thing.

During his days as a petty criminal, Cam had been part of a group of other crooks. While Cam remained loyal to the art of pick pocketing and shoplifting (along with grand theft auto, of course), many of his friends dabbled in short cons. Whether it was a fixed card trick on a street corner or forging checks at a shop, every one of their victims had something in common—a human quality that was easily exploited.

Some victims were arrogant and selfish. Some were too naive and trusting. A promise of a quick fortune appealed to everyone, but it especially appealed to those who wanted a challenge to prove their worth or maybe someone who believed in the quickly created a sob story that went along with it. Either way you spun it, the second your mind follows any direction but common sense—people get sloppy and make mistakes.

That's why it was so remarkably easy to find Alicia Rivera in in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. When she had left Morocco, she was more than angry, she was livid. Cam had aptly questioned her motives and even her sanity, which had led her to dash out of the country the quickest way possible. Maybe if Alicia was calm, she would have realized it would have been smarter to lie low in Morocco, because she was far more likely to leave rather than stay. But she didn't. All because she had let Cam's words get to her.

She must have ran out of cash, because her credit card trail led straight to Rio. From there, it was practically child's play to run a quick search of her alias in every hotel system in the country. One popped up almost immediately, the Paraíso Hotel, situated comfortably in the middle of the tourist filled city.

Truth be told, the hardest part about tracking her at this point was staying awake. Between all the international flights, he hadn't had a good night's sleep in over two weeks. His new dependence on coffee wasn't helping him out at all. So, he had opted to spend the extra hundred dollars by taking a taxi straight to the Paraíso instead of going by foot or by bus. His funds were running dangerously low, and it was clinch time. After leaving his cell phone charger in France, Cam didn't have access to his world back home. Len Rivera was probably going ballistic by now and Cam would bet his left foot that his job was on the line.

Cam needed that job. He had made a name for himself in his department by not only being the youngest private investigator ever admitted, but for his seemingly sixth sense when it came to finding information on criminals. Nobody could track and nab people like he could, which was why he had no idea why he was in Brazil of all places, chasing a girl who should have been the easiest target ever.

But she wasn't. And that made her intriguing.

The taxi came to a halting stop in front of a brilliantly ocean blue building. Cam hopped out with his lone suitcase and ambled up the stairs to the hotel. His rumpled appearance set him apart from the clean cut businessmen and women who frequented the lobby, but he was too tired to care. The only thing that mattered at the moment was the girl who may or may not have been staying there.

He strode up to the main desk purposefully. "Good morning," he said to the young woman at the desk, who immediately snapped to attention when Cam showed up.

Nervously, the young woman smoothed her already silky hair and her sharply pressed shirt. "Hello, how may I help you?" she replied with a thick Portuguese accent, but it was English nonetheless. English was good, it was safe.

Here came the tough part. If Cam had learned anything through this ordeal, it was that people just didn't give out information about people in their hotels or on their planes without a little push. Leaning in to the girl, Cam put on a self-assured grin and locked eyes with her. After a year as a PI, Cam quickly learned that he could use his charm to weasel information out of people. A blush crept on her perfectly made up cheeks.

"Do you think you can help me find somebody here?" he asked, laying on his own accent much stronger. "It's really important that I find out what room they're in."

She coughed out and looked around anxiously. "I am not allowed," she responded dejectedly, "It's against the rules."

That was expected. So, Cam leaned in a little further and widened his eyes, making sure that she was focused on him as possible. "Please? Can you do it for me?" He dropped his voice to a low, raspy whisper. "Nobody has to know..."

The young woman bit her lip and smiled at him. "Fine. I will do it," she whispered conspiratorially. "What is the name?"

"Alicia Rivera," Cam said smoothly, making sure he kept his voice low. Nobody was supposed to know she was missing, let alone in Brazil.

The woman's face fell slightly at the fact that Cam was searching for a girl, but she furiously clacked at her keyboard anyway. She frowned. "I am sorry, there is no Alicia Rivera here. But maybe if you had time later—"

"How about Penelope Moritz?" Cam tried Alicia's fake passport name while ignoring her come on. "Is she in the system?"

More clacking this time. But, the woman widened her eyes in surprise. "Yes, there is a Penelope Moritz. Third floor. Room 305," she said with a bit of sadness. "Do you need any help finding her—"

"No, I'm fine," Cam smiled, picking up his suitcase once more. Her frown deepened, so he quickly added, "Thanks for all of your help. That shade of lipstick looks stunning on you, by the way."

Her broad smile returned as she pointed him in the direction of the elevator. There was adrenaline surging through his blood stream as he practically forced himself in the already crowded elevator, unaware of the glares people were throwing at the young disheveled man. His heart didn't stop pounding until he reached the third floor and bounded straight for Room 305. Maybe he would have noticed the beauty of the hotel if he wasn't so determined.

All con men and thieves knew that the greatest weapon was not force or cunning, but the element of surprise. By catching a mark off guard, they were vulnerable. And vulnerability meant cooperation. _At least_, Cam thought to himself as he knocked on the door, _I hope it does._

But, his hopes were quickly dashed. The door swung open almost immediately, like she had been simply waiting for him to show up. Lo and behold, there was Alicia Rivera. Alicia Rivera in ratty pajamas, her hair in a messy ponytail, and her arms crossed defiantly. Alicia Rivera who stared at him with complete and utter boredom and contempt.

"What took you so long?"

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Cam said as he plopped down on the couch of her hotel room. He had to admit, the room was great. She had a clear view of the water and the city, with huge windows and a balcony full of fresh flowers. But, her luxe choice of room was second to the bomb she just dropped on him terms of "most shocking." Alicia was calmly sitting directly across him on her bed, pouring them tea from a silver platter.

"You quit?" Cam clarified in disbelief, rubbing his temples. Almost immediately after she let Cam in, Alicia announced that she was done with all of this and wanted to get back to New York as soon as possible. If it wasn't for the completely sincere way she broke the news to him, he wouldn't have bought it.

And he still didn't. Not yet. This was most definitely a trick, and until she messed up again, he was going to play along.

She cocked an eyebrow. "I'm not quitting. I want to go home," she replied nonchalantly, taking a tiny sip of her green tea. "I'm just done."

"Why?" Cam blurted out. Less than a week ago, she had told him that if she went home, she'd be on a fast track to hell. If her tales of misery in the Rivera household was right, there would be no reason for her to even want to go home. Something had changed.

Alicia sighed and set down her tea. "I didn't want to admit this to you," she paused nervously, "but I'm homesick, okay?"

"Bullshit."

"It's not because of my parents." She rolled her eyes. "I miss art classes and art in general. I haven't been able to paint in weeks. And the city, you know? You live there. There's nowhere else like New York City. _Nowhere._"

Cam mulled that over. Yes, he knew how important art was to her, how it was her only escape. But if it was close to her heart as she claimed, she would have managed to get creative on the run. And, for someone who had been to some of the most amazing cities in the world, she sure did hold her so-called "hell hole" to high standards.

So, he went on the offensive. "How dumb do you think I am, Alicia?" he said sharply. "You don't go from jumping off roofs in Casablanca to saying you wanna go home. _You're lying._" He said the last bit with a tinge of disappointment. At this point, he was fully aware of how good Alicia was. She was definitely better than lying so blatantly to his face, no matter how convincing she sounded or how brown her eyes looked in the sunlight.

"Trust me—"

"I don't."

For a split second, Alicia actually looked hurt until she smiled bitterly at his bluntness. "With good reason," she admitted sheepishly, looking down at her her hands.

Cam's face turned stony, which caused her to continue. "And I'm just...I don't know, I'm just tired of running. I'm tired of getting on planes to God-knows-where everyday. I'm tired of all the lying to get around. And, damn—" She collapsed on her bed. "I'm just _tired."_

That was the truest thing she said all day. At least Cam was used to such erratic hours in his department, but Princess Alicia was probably used to getting better sleep. Stifling a yawn of his own, Cam refused to fall for anything else.

"So what?" he began slowly, "You're tired. You should be—"

She cut him off. "And you are too," she said softly, staring directly at his bloodshot mismatched eyes. "Look, I have an idea—" Cam let out a dry snort. "You're tired. I'm dead tired. Why don't we both just take a nap and talk about all of this when we have some more energy?"

Cam laughed. "You've got a lot of nerve, love," he mused, "that's the oldest trick in the book of the oldest tricks in the book. Try harder."

Alicia shrugged easily. "Fine." But to his surprise, she went underneath the covers of her bed without another word. In a few minutes, her rhythmic breathing was the loudest thing in the otherwise silent room.

He couldn't help himself, so purely for investigatory reasons, he got up to make sure that she was actually sleeping and not hiding under a blanket with an escape plan. With her, anything was possible.

To his relief, she was actually asleep. Her eyes were closed, but not a forced closed. Now, she was snorting lightly, and there was even a little trail of drool from her mouth. Nonetheless, there was something about being in a dream state that made even the most dangerous people seem completely peaceful.

"Alicia Rivera," he muttered to himself, "you are one very strange girl."

Sighing, Cam fell back on the tiny couch she had left him. It was against his better judgment, but he stretched out until he was comfortable (which was easier said than done) and stared up at the ceiling.

_She's really asleep_, he thought, _it wouldn't kill me to rest my eyes for a few minutes. _A rookie mistake it may have been, Cam waited ten minutes to let Alicia fall into a deep slumber before closing his eyes. It didn't take very long until all of his traveling finally caught up with his body, and a wave of exhaustion nearly drowned him in its wake. The couch was suddenly softer, the cool summer breeze made relaxed his muscles.

_Just a few minutes_, he repeated over and over and over again until his mind was too tired for anything else.

And then everything blissfully went to black.  
_  
_

* * *

When Cam woke up, three hours later, he didn't wake up to a gorgeous afternoon in Rio.

He woke up to three gruff police officers in his face, one of which was holding a small silver pistol _very _close to his face. Needless to say, it wasn't the most thing to wake up to.

While Cam was not licensed to carry a gun with him, years of breaking and then enforcing the law told him to stay calm. Exhaling slowly, he put his hands up to show that he wasn't a safety hazard. The officers nodded at him, so he took it as a cue to reach in his pocket to get his badge.

"What are you doing here?" one of the officers snarled. Luckily, it wasn't the officer with the gun. But that was only a small reprieve in the big picture.

Cam unfolded his wallet to reveal his PI badge. But, in a foreign country, it meant nothing more than a shiny piece of plastic. "I'm a private investigator," he managed to cough out, his throat still killing him, "I was looking for somebody."

"And you fell asleep?" another asked with a dumbstruck expression.

Cam frowned, but tried to keep his gaze as steady as possible. The less fear he showed, the more legitimate he came off to them. "Well," he stalled for time, "one of my good friends rented this hotel room and said I could sleep here."

"What friend?"

Cam's eyes immediately shot to Alicia's bed. Empty. The king sized bed was made immaculately with hospital corners and fresh pillows. It looked like nobody had ever slept in. Suddenly, his stomach fell. It was all clear now.

Alicia was gone again.

The officers were losing patience. "Well?" the first officer pressed on angrily. "There is no record of this room ever being checked out. We received an anonymous tip saying there was a suspicious person lurking around this suite. What did you steal?"

She was gone. And she had set him up.

_Of course_, Cam's mind started spinning, _she got rid of all the evidence._ He had underestimated Alicia before, but he had never believed that she could con him like this. All of the talk of missing home and and wanting to do art again, it was all lies.

"Explain yourself or we will arrest you!"

Cam ignored them. Like a true con artist, she had exploited his exhaustion. How did it not occur to him that she had time to rest before he had arrived? She had anticipated his every move. Leave it to Alicia Rivera to be dangerous in her sleep.

Then, he tried to stand up, but something kept him tied to the couch. It wasn't just something. He was handcuffed to one of his legs to one of the legs of the couch. _Handcuffed. _Judging by the expression on the police officers' faces, they weren't aware that their would-be burglar was chained to the couch.  
_  
_But that wasn't the cherry on the top of her con. No, Alicia took it to another level. While the police officers continued to threaten him with arrest in a mix of both English and Portuguese, Cam craned his neck to get a good look at the writing on the handcuffs.

In a familiar scrawl he once saw in a bathroom in Italy, a six letter word taunted him and added even more insult to injury. Literally.

Because staring back at him was the one word that summed up all he had ever been to Alicia M. Rivera.

_Sucker._

* * *

**AN: It's safe to say that Alicia had proved her con artist status here, right? Poor Cam. He really got set up.**

**The next chapter is the last "real" chapter, the one after that is the epilogue. So yeah, my little crazy story is almost done :p**

**Thanks for all the reviews so far and all the reviews on my other stories. I really really appreciate it :) **

**Feedback is muy bueno, so I'd love some on this chapter!  
**

**xoxo,**

**Ren  
**


	7. the rain in spain

**The Rain in Spain  
**

Unlike many of her Upper East Side cohorts, Alicia Rivera was not born into wealth. At Octavian Country Day, most students could either thank their considerably large bank accounts to their great-great-grandparents (who literally struck gold through mining or oil) or to their parents (who became nouveau riche in the tech boom). Either way, from first breath to first Mercedes: they have always lived a life of privilege.

The Riveras were another story. Most "new money" families waited until their millions were stable before having children, to ensure they had the best life possible. Len and Nadia Rivera struggled with a then three-year-old Nina and one-year-old Alicia in a tiny Brooklyn apartment, while Len went to business school during the day and drove taxis at night. Penny pinching became their only way of living. There was only a little money to spend on a new doll for Nina or a new set of paints for Alicia. While their families in Spain were definitely comfortable, the young couple was determined to make it on their own in New York.

And they did. When Mr. Rivera started Rivera Corporations when Alicia was six, and needless to say, the long days of business school had most definitely paid off. Between owning a rather large share of other booming companies, a patent office, and many other profitable endeavors— the Riveras were set for life.

But as they acquired more and more money, things started to change around the Rivera household. The girls left their public school in Brooklyn to a private academy in Manhattan. They moved to a penthouse that was about ten times bigger than their old apartment. Her mother was visibly more relaxed now that she had people to clean the house and run errands, while her father took one day off once a week to spend with the family.

All that glittered was definitely not gold, however. The seemingly perfect family started to crack at the seams once the good ol' society butted in. To prove their worth to the New York elite, Mr. and Mrs. Rivera put more energy into attending galas and other events. They ditched their wardrobe of jeans and sweaters for finely made designer clothes. Instead of going to Spain for vacation to visit grandparents and cousins, the Rivera brood went to the Hamptons. Alicia, at first, thought this was great. A new life. New people.

But then her family started to change as well. Mr. Rivera spent more and more time at work, adding more zeros to their bank accounts and trust funds. Mrs. Rivera started to focus on refining her image as the perfect society wife, even if that meant leaving her children with the nanny for days at a time for vacations and events. And Nina, to Alicia's dismay, had the biggest change of all. The sisters used to practically share a brain, but as soon as Nina decided it was more important to stay one step ahead of her peers. That meant having the best clothes, best hair, best _everything._

And, Alicia soon fell through the cracks. Art was the only escape and the best one, at that. She'd think of another week passing without seeing her mom and she would draw. She'd remember the way she and Nina used to stay up all night telling stories and she would sculpt. She'd look back on the way her dad would always proudly put her scribbles on the refrigerator as a child and would paint.

Most of all, Alicia reminisced about Spain. That was where it all began, and where it always began. Before the days before the name Rivera became synonymous with _filthy rich_, Alicia's grandparents would send tickets for the family to come visit in the summer. Summers in Spain meant millions of sandcastles made on the beach (when Alicia went through her architecture stage), water fights with her older cousins and sister, and begging to have a sip of her Aunt Isabel's (virgin) sangria.

Her father put away the business books and bring out the soccer ball and play like a little kid. Her mother delighted in getting to catch up with her sisters, gossiping about what was new and who got married and other otherwise inane things. Even Nina, who was still very immaculate in appearance then, ran wild with the rest of the children.

Spain was home to her family, but Alicia's home was truly in _Costa Gaviotas_, or Seagull Coast. That was the beach of her childhood, thirty minutes away from the city and traffic. With its deep blue water, blinding white sand, and no tourists to be seen for miles_—_ it had always been Alicia's place. In her loneliest days in New York, she craved the thick, salty sea air and peace. Her body may have remained in Manhattan, but her heart would always belong to Costa Gaviotas.

So, when she hastily took a direct flight from Brazil to Spain (while leaving her favorite PI conveniently occupied), she didn't bother with a suitcase or even a hotel. No, Alicia left Rio only with her trusty shoulder bag, a few pages left in her sketchbook, and passport. When the plane stepped down in Spain, the musical language that she had grown up sounded like the greatest song she had ever heard. For the first time in a long time, she felt right. The universe was aligned in her favor.

Almost immediately taking a taxi to the south coast, she rolled the car's window open to get a whiff of nostalgia. They sped by many of the places her family used to frequent: the restaurant run by her father's old best friend, the fountain where Alicia had pushed Nina in on accident, and the candy store her cousins were practically addicted to.

The taxi stopped, she was finally here. All of that traveling, scheming escape plans, and jet lag had led her to one beautiful destination.

The beach.

_Home.  


* * *

  
_There was no better pleasure in life, Alicia decided quickly, than spending a cool, cloudy day on the beach. While a hot, sunny day at the beach was painted as the ultimate ideal, Alicia much preferred going to the beach on days when there was a storm looming. Something about the way tides were stronger and the way the air smelled before rain always got to her.

For the past few hours, she had been sitting on the docks. The crashing waves tickled her feet and the humid air was as fresh as ever. Dressed in old jeans and a sweatshirt, she was as comfortable as could be in that weather. She was working on a sketch of the boats in the water, filling one of the last pages of her tattered sketchbook. Next to her was a cup of fresh virgin sangria and a tiny dish of _cocidos_ she bought at a shop not too far from the beach: her favorite foods from Spain. In other words, it was the kind of day she spent dreaming of. It was great, it was perfect.

Almost.

Something didn't feel right. She should have been happy, truly happy to be home. But she wasn't. The sinking sensation in her stomach hadn't disappeared and her drawing was completely off, a sign that something was wrong in the world of Alicia Rivera.

"Hey, stranger." Over the past two weeks, Alicia had practically become accustomed the voice and presence of Cam Fisher. The way his hair never seemed to stay neat. The bemused expression on his face. His blue eye. His green eye. The only thing that had changed was that she found herself being less annoyed with it all. He was definitely consistent, and consistency was a trait she appreciated.

Taking a seat on the dock next to her, he sighed deeply. He looked remarkably calm for somebody, if her plan had succeeded, been detained by police in a Brazilian hotel.

Alicia looked at him warily. "Hi," she greeted coolly, reverting her eyes back to her drawing.

Instead of making a snarky comment about meeting her in Spain or her drawing, Cam simply yawned and stretched his arms. He lied down on the docks, placing his hands under his head like he had intended to do nothing more than to relax. Until he spoke.

"I quit," he said nonchalantly, as if making a comment about the weather,

Now, it was Alicia's turn to be shocked. Her eyes darted to his, looking for any sign of joking. There wasn't. "No," she said in disbelief, "you're lying."

Cam's face stayed stony. "Some of us like the truth, Leesh," he retorted. The use of her nickname made her heart jump, she had never mentioned having a shorter moniker before. "And yeah, I do quit."

Was this the way he felt when she convinced him she had quit? But then Alicia realized a very crucial fact: besides his job, Cam had nothing to lose. He had nowhere to run to, and nobody to run away from.

"Why?" she questioned carefully, raising an eyebrow in doubt.

"Because," he began calmly, "almost getting arrested in London and then waking up with a gun in my face in Rio led me to believe that you, Alicia Monet Rivera, are nothing but trouble." His voice was easy and casual, but he retained an air of seriousness.

This was the truth. Alicia was no machine, but years of honing her built in lie detector (to sense when her parents lied about there whereabouts) told her that Cam was being honest. He was done. With everything. With her. Truth be told, the idea of Cam not pursuing her different countries any more almost made her wistful. She did have some fun with their game, even if that game had taken them both everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

"And plus," Cam said, feigning sadness, "you've ruined my record. I can usually nab a person in a week. I'm going to be the laughingstock of the office now."

Alicia faked pouted. "You'll just have to forgive me," she replied, smirking.

Cam laughed wryly before digging in his pocket and fishing out a cigarette. Lighting it and taking a long drag, the cloudy smoke he breathed out almost matched the hue of the murky sky perfectly.

"You look right stupid," Alicia mused dryly, recalling the rooftop in Casablanca.

Cam looked at her, the cigarette, and then her again. He shrugged, and then threw the offending object into the now still water. "In my defense," he stated, "anyone would be killing for a cigarette after the two weeks I've had."

"Flattery, Cam," she snorted, "you're not very good at it."

He nodded in agreement. "You're absolutely right," he said with a mischievious grin, "my charms don't work on you. If they did, you would have been home by now." She had a feeling that's one of the reasons he waved the white flag on her: if he hadn't gotten her on a plane by now, he wasn't going to get her on one in the future.

Alicia mulled over his words before asking, "Is that why my father hired you? Charm me and get me home quickly?" She had been wondering if there was a deeper reason that this guy was sent to find her and not somebody with more experience, no matter how much of a prodigy Cam may have been.

"Who knows," Cam said with a chuckle, "maybe they planned it. Maybe it was fate, you know the universe works in strange ways."

"I'm pretty sure the universe is going to be pissed when it realizes you quit."

"Not as mad as my boss will be. I'll take the universe's wrath over her's any day." Alicia had to laugh at that, but she felt a pang of guilt. Cam was going to lose his job over her, and who knows what kind of flack he would get from her father for not coming back with her. And for what? So she could stay and wander from place to place without owning up to anything? It may not have been fair to simply give up and go home, but it wasn't fair to Cam. Maybe he had more to lose than she thought.

Alicia tried to squelch the feelings of remorse. "So what are you going to tell them when you get back?" she asked.

"The truth," Cam said without thinking. "That you joined the mafia."

"I've always wanted to join the mafia," she replied sarcastically.

"Well," he sighed, "now you've got the time."

Alicia whacked him in the arm. "I'm serious," she said, "what are you gonna do when you get to New York without me?"

He placed a hand to his heart and batted his eyelashes. "Why Alicia, I had no idea you cared so much."

"Shut up."

Cam laughed a bit before sitting back up to face her. "Look, let me worry about the details, okay?" He hesitated for a moment. "I thought about what you said in Casablanca. And..." he trailed off, looking out at the water, "and you're right. It's not fair to you. If you're going to these extremes to run away and not let anybody find you, then maybe..."

"Maybe what?"

His lips twitched up for a second. "Then maybe you need to stay lost. For now."

It would have been an understatement for Alicia to say that was probably the most sincere thing anybody has ever told her before. But, she didn't show it. Instead, she rested her head on the docks and stared up at the sky, willing the storm to start.

Except, maybe it already had.

She fidgeted with her drawing. "Thanks," she mumbled. He simply nodded in return.

Cam studied her indifferent expression for a moment with a quizzical look. "You know, I actually ran away once," he said with a lofty smile. She had a feeling he was trying to move the conversation away from getting too deep.

Alicia scoffed. "You, the PI wonder boy?"

"I was a bit of a criminal," he mused, "I sort of stole a car."

Her eyes widened in surprise. The idea of someone involved with protecting the law doing something as illegal as stealing a car seemed ridiculous. "How do you _sort of_ steal a car?"

Cam shrugged sheepishly. "Alright. You got me. I stole a car." Alicia stifled a giggle at the image, but then she realized that Cam had always had some air of mystery and experience to him_—_she just didn't think it came in the form of grand theft auto.

"So, before the whole car theft thing," Cam began, "I was into pickpocketing. I was never really a good kid, you know? Until I moved to America and after my parent's divorce. They couldn't stand each other at all, it was mad. So one day, I just couldn't take all the arguing, you know? They were arguing about the mail or some stupid shit like that. I was just so done with it that I climbed out of my bedroom window with my stuff and went to my mate Chris' house."

Alicia couldn't imagine what it was like to live with arguments twenty-four seven. At least if her parents had a spat, they argued in complete privacy so nobody, not even Alicia or Nina, would see that their facade of a perfect little family was cracked.

"And then what happened?" she asked, mystified.

Cam grinned. "Turns out that Chris' parents argue more than mine." The two shared a laugh before continuing. "So yeah, after a few hours there I just went home. They didn't even notice I was gone."

"Your ego must've took a beating."

"A severe ego beating," he agreed mournfully, "maybe I should have called child protection services on them?"

"Oh, I think your ego could take a hit once in a while."

Thunder rumbled in the air, and the skies had turned a murky white to a deep gray. The other few beach goers had begun to pack up their belongings, yelling to each other in Spanish that it was bound to rain any second. Even the boats that Alicia had tried to draw were sailing back to the shore.

Cam stood up, taking the looming weather as a cue to leave. Alicia did the same. "So," he said, messing his hair, "my flight home leaves in about an hour. And, uh, I just wanted to say goodbye. Before I left." Alicia bit back a smile: was the great Cam Fisher actually flustered?

"So this is goodbye." He looked at her awkwardly as if he didn't quite know what do next. Alicia was in the same boat. A hug was too familiar, a simple _goodbye_ was too distant. And a kiss? Well, that wasn't even an option.

Cam rested a hand on her shoulder. There was definitely more he wanted to say to her. Alicia looked back at him expectantly. But, instead of confessing anything major or giving her a heartfelt speech on what the last two weeks meant to her, he tilted his head and smiled.

"Goodbye, Alicia," he said, "it's been crazy. But fun. In a crazy sort of way."

"Goodbye, Cam," she replied, almost choking on those two words. _Goodbye _sounded so final, so certain. And she didn't feel certain about _anything _in that moment.

With one last look at the girl who had continually slipped out of his grasp and one last nod to the boy who had always found her, Cam and Alicia went on their separate ways. Cam took the first taxi back to the city, while Alicia opted for a long walk to well, anywhere.

* * *

Vaguely, Alicia was aware that is was raining as she strolled. Not only raining, but _pouring. _The streets she walked on her soaked, with puddles everywhere she walked. The rumble of thunder gave way to cracks of lightning, scaring the other bystanders and going to deaf ears with Alicia. It was her favorite kind of weather, the kind of rain that washed everything away and left everything clean and fresh. It was her favorite kind of weather in her favorite place. And for some reason, nothing was perfect. She should have been ecstatic, but she wasn't. All for some stupid reason she couldn't think of.

Until it her.

And it hit her hard, much harder than she expected or wanted.

She wasn't home. This wasn't _home_. If it was, she wouldn't have to try so hard to make everything so perfect. They say home is where the heart is, and if the rapid beating of her own was any indication: her heart hadn't been in Spain for years. As the rain washed over her, Alicia quickly realized that even if she didn't know where home was, it most definitely wasn't here.

There was only thing left to do.

So, for the last time, Alicia Rivera ran away.

* * *

**AN: I'm pretty sure you guys can guess what happens next :) The next and final chapter will be the epilgue, and don't worry, a lot of things will be tied up then.**

**So, in honor of this being the almost last chapter, I had a couple questions for you guys that I'd love you to answer:**

**1.) What was your favorite location and why?**

**2.) Favorite quote of the whole story so far?**

**Answering those along with a review would be absolutely fantastic :) You reviewers are honestly the best. I didn't expect much feedback for this story as a whole, but you guys have been so great and nice that I kinda feel bad for ending the story so shortly. But, it's for the best, really :)**

**Thanks so much for reading!  
**

**xoxo,**

**Ren  
**


	8. the city that never sleeps

**The City That Never Sleeps**

The very first thing Alicia Rivera did when she returned to New York City was paint.

While she did take the time out to greet the house help (specifically the ones she had known for years), have a coffee with her beloved art teacher Inez (who was both motherly and a mentor), and then make a phone call to the police department to call off the investigation (among other things)— she had shut herself in her bedroom-slash-studio and only came out for meals. When inspiration hits an artist, it hits them hard.

And before she knew it, the entire world became her canvas. Every fresh piece of paper told a story of an adventure that seemed so familiar that she could have sketched it with her eyes closed. She experimented in different styles of painting: realism, surrealism, cubism, impressionism, even pop art. None of her new paintings resembled each other, yet all of them pointed to the universal message of the artist: people change.

And Alicia Rivera wasn't the same girl she was two weeks ago.

* * *

It was needless to say that the Riveras were rather indifferent to the homecoming of their youngest daughter.

"Hmm," her mother had mused, taking a sip of her wine, "I assumed you were vacationing with your friends from school. Katarina Harrington told me that her son and his friends were in the French Riviera last week. It _is _rather fabulous this time of the year..."

Her father had simply grumbled to himself, "Damn straight you're back home. I was going to pay that Fisher punk more money than he had ever seen in his life. God, if he thinks I'm paying _that _much money after he took so long? He'll be lucky to get a grand."

Nina had the most spirited reaction. "Ugh, Alicia," she had snarled, her scowl in full effect, "you almost ruined the _Light Up the Night_ auction and gala that I was planning. I mean, can you _be _any more of an attention seeker? At least now people won't talk about you running off, I had to feed them a fake story of how you were in the Riviera at our vacation house. What are you wearing tonight to the gala? Not the BCBG dress, I'm wearing BCBG..."

Instead of making a smart remark about how they were all shoo-ins for the Family of the Year award, Alicia simply shrugged it off. If she had learned anything about her family during her transcontinental ordeal, it was that she couldn't force them to care and this was probably the best reaction she was going to get. After all, she was seventeen and the second her birthday came around and she inherited a quarter of her trust fund, she'd be out.

* * *

To call the _Light Up the Night _gala a success would be an understatement. Held in the Waldorf-Astoria hotel's grand ballroom, Nina Rivera had certainly outdid herself. Colorful (and absurdly expensive) lights hung on the walls and the ceiling, but the restored seventeenth century French chandelier was the star. As the pianist played classic pop standards from the 1940s, the impeccably dressed waiters strolled around offering around gourmet appetizers. It seemed as if all of the elite Upper East Siders were attending the extravagant affair.

Except for Alicia.

Instead of being forced to make small talk with people she didn't care for in an uncomfortable designer dress, she was at the Monroe-Fitz Museum new art gallery, debuting her latest collection. Still titled "_A Girl In Progress"_, her new series of paintings were radically different from the ones she had attempted to show weeks ago. Luckily, the director of the art gallery was impressed enough with her work to give her another shot at revealing them to the public. And this time, Alicia wasn't going to waste it.

Under the fluorescent lights of the gallery, Alicia truly felt at home. The smell of paint in the air only relaxed her nervous stomach. She did have good reason to be nervous, after all. The turn out for her art show was much higher than she had expected. An eclectic mix of Brooklyn hipsters, university students, and art connoisseurs filled the showing room and buzzed with their thoughts on her work. In any other situation, Alicia would have been a wreck. But, it wasn't any other situation: she was finally in her element.

"These are really great," said Kori Geldman, a student at New York University Alicia had met at the Hope for Health gala, "They're all so different. What inspired you?"

Alicia beamed at the painting they were studying—a watercolor of a London alleyway—and turned to Kori. "It all just came to me, you know? Something about painting all of this just felt right. I guess I was inspired by instinct," she explained, trying to sound nonchalant.

Kori nodded. "I know what you mean. Still, though." She stopped talking to take a closer look at the piece. "I gotta say, with this portfolio and a gallery showing behind you, there's no way you can't get into NYU's art program. Maybe even Rhode Island School of Design?"

"Thanks, Kori. It means a lot," Alicia replied, keeping her head down to hide her smile. And it did mean a lot to her. Praise wasn't something that Alicia was accustomed to. "Excuse me for a moment." Alicia walked away to make the rounds of her gallery.

After a lap around the gallery, she noticed that the most common feedback of her work was confusion. Every where she looked, she would catch someone taking a second look at her painting and trying to make a meaning of it. According to some of the people there, Alicia was trying to make a statement on "_the failings of mankind_" and other poorly formulated pretentious ideas.

"This one is quite striking," an older woman mused. She was studying a pop art piece of a cigarette dangling off a rooftop, aptly named _Right Stupid._ The woman frowned. "But I don't what the artist is trying to say."

"Perhaps she's very anti-smoking?" another younger woman guessed and Alicia suppressed a smile as she walked by. "This one is my absolute favorite, though." She gestured to an oil painting of a crossword puzzle on a cafe table.

Even if her works caused a bit of misunderstanding, Alicia couldn't have been more proud. In fact, the more they tried to analyze her work, the more she wanted to laugh. It was as if they were all missing out on a private joke, one that Alicia (and maybe somebody else) was only in on.

"Alicia! Come here," Kori called out. Alicia strode over to meet her in front of another work. Still, the sight of this specific painting was enough to make her stomach flip.

This was probably Alicia's favorite one. Half of the painting was a detailed sketch of half a face. Yes, she had spent quite some time trying to make sure that every bit was perfect, from the way the hair didn't quite lay flat to the way the lips curled up in an unmistakable little smirk. The other half of the canvas was a swirl of different shades of blue and green done with acrylic paint. There wasn't another painting in the room that said as much as this one did.

"What's the name of this one?" questioned Kori with wide eyes.

Alicia fidgeted a bit. "It's just untitled." Truth was, she couldn't have come up with a fitting name in time.

"It really familiar," Kori said to herself, looking at the painting and then scanning the room. "Like, really familiar."

She bit her lip and willed her face not to heat up. "No," she managed to sputter out, "it's just half a face. It's not really meant to—"

"No," Kori interjected, wheeling Alicia around and pointing to a guy who had just walked in the gallery, "it's _him._"

* * *

The first thing Alicia did when she saw Cam Fisher at her art showing was try not to faint.

The next thing she did was grab him by the arm and drag him to a more secluded spot away from the crowd, just avert creating a scene. While she had expected him to make a rakish comment about her use of force, he remained oddly quiet and held on to a yellow gift bag with dear life.

"What," she began, crossing her arms, "are you doing here?" Those weren't the first words she imagined herself

Cam smiled brightly. "Would you believe me if I said I was a patron of the arts?"

"Not for a second."

"Oh, then," he said with a shrug, "we've got a problem. Because I really hoping you would believe that."

Alicia studied him for a moment. This was the most cleaned (and she hated to admit, handsome) up she had ever seen him. Dressed in a pair of fitted black suit and a gray shirt with an loosened black tie, he was easily one of the most formally dressed there. Alicia herself wore a pair of turquoise jeans and an off the shoulder black shirt, strikingly casual for her own showing.

"Why are you so dressed up, Cam?" she asked slowly.

He sighed dramatically. "Because," he said as he played with his tie, "like an idiot, I thought you'd be at that gala your sister was throwing and I should dress up for the occasion." He paused and laughed a bit. "Then I remembered you wouldn't be caught dead there. But, your mum's personal assistant told me about your art showing and yeah..."

"Here you are," she finished for him. Alicia didn't know quite how to feel about that. At least, she didn't know how to feel about that until the freefalling sensation in her stomach reappeared and her heartbeat quickened.

"Here I am," he repeated. Were his eyes always that green and blue?

She blinked a few times to get out of her trance. "Well, at least your nice suit didn't go to waste." But what she really wanted to ask was: _why did you want to see me?_ A question with an answer that she was both anxious and terrified to hear.

He looked down at his suit as if he noticed it for the first time, and then he grinned widely. "Yeah, I bought it with my fancy new paycheck. I got a promotion."

"A promotion?" Alicia raised an eyebrow and bit back a smile of her own.

"Can you believe it?" He rubbed the back of his head, making his hair much messier in the process. "I walked into my department the second I got back from Spain, ready to quit and tell my boss that I couldn't find you." Then, he looked at her knowingly.

"But something strange happened," he continued, "my boss said she got a call from a Miss Alicia M. Rivera, saying that she was home safely and the only reason it took two weeks was because of passport issues at customs."

Alicia gasped in mock disbelief. "And then what happened?"

"Turns out that this Miss Alicia M. Rivera thought I was the best PI and _insisted _I be promoted." He exhaled. "Crazy story, right?"

"Crazy girl."

"You know," he mused pointedly, "I'm starting to think that I like crazy."

Alicia had to pretend to suddenly be very interested in her watch, so he wouldn't see her flushed face. When she made the call to his workplace, she didn't think his boss would actually _tell_ him.

Luckily, Cam quickly averted the almost awkward silence. "I wanted to thank you. For the promotion. For everything," he stated, his tone very serious. Gingerly, he handed her the bright yellow gift bag.

"Oh, I couldn't. Really, I mean I should be thanking _you_—" she tried to decline, pushing the bag away.

Cam rolled his eyes playfully. "Spare me the politeness, Leesh. Just open it."

Obliging, Alicia dug through the tissue paper until her hands met a sturdy leather surface. When she pulled out the present, her eyes nearly bugged out of her head.

It was a new sketchbook. Not only just a new sketchbook, a near identical copy of the one she had used when they were in Spain. With a smooth leather cover and bound with a considerable stack of fresh, thick paper—it was _perfect._

"Wow," she breathed out, hugging the new book with far more joy than intended.

Cam bit his lip. "It's nothing special, really. I just, uh, noticed you were running out of pages and I, uh, decided to—" he stammered before Alicia cut him off.

"I _love _it," she said brightly, but she chose to torture Cam for a little longer. "But most people bring flowers to this kind of thing," she added teasingly.

He shrugged. "Since when am I _most people_?"

Another silence followed suit. In her head, Alicia knew that she would have to return to her art show eventually and it was rather rude not to be making the rounds and talking to her guests. But, she didn't want to go back. How could it be that the girl who was so unbelievably good at running away actually wanted to stay in one place?

Like always, Cam seemed to read her thoughts because he said, "Er, yeah. That was all I wanted to say. Thanks for getting me that promotion. It means a lot."

"Thanks for the sketchbook. And thanks for, you know," she trailed off, because in the moment, she knew he could finish her statement effortlessly.

"It's my job," he explained wryly. "So, uh, you've got to do your show, right? I've got a thing to go to. A very important thing—"

"You're dressed in a suit, perfect for important things," joked Alicia.

"Yeah, that too." Cam sighed. "We should just save ourselves the time and get our goodbyes over with." Alicia's stomach lurched once more, but the way his eyes were filled with light remedied it.

A little voice in her head told her that "_this is it, last chance to say anything else_", but then again there was never a real goodbye when it came to Cam Fisher. He always turned up again, whether she liked it or not. That one bit of reassurance was the only thing keeping her from acting out on emotion rather than common sense.

Alicia stuck out her hand. "Goodbye, Cam."

He returned the expression and shook her hand. "Goodbye, Alicia."

This time, when Cam Fisher walked away and Alicia returned to her art gallery, she felt a different emotion than the forced passiveness she had experienced in Spain. A feeling she couldn't quite place. As she made her last rounds around the gallery, she felt certain that it was simply bitter-sweetness about her wild adventure being finished. She saw and studied her paintings with a fresher eye, she decided it was gratitude. When she made made her commencing speech about her art, she thought the feeling was regret.

Until she realized, of course, that it not one of them. She was feeling _all_ of them.

And then she did what she did best and ran.

* * *

Seventeen minutes.

It took Alicia seventeen whole minutes to decide that she needed to go after Cam. No matter how many times she tried to assure herself that, as they both lived in the same city, she could easily see Cam again if she really wanted to (and she _really_ wanted to.), but she knew that it was now or never. One last chance for everything.

And it was a chance she had to take.

The second her art showing finished, Alicia skipped the customary farewells and bounded out of the gallery. Kicking off her shoes and holding them in her arms, she sprinted as fast as she could out of the building. Sure, it was a long shot. Cam was probably already well on his way to whatever _important thing _he had mentioned. But she'd regret it if she didn't try anyway.  
In a dreadfully long elevator ride, she had the time to reflect on the irony of the situation: now _he _was the mouse and _she _was the cat.

Nearly flying out of the elevator and into the lobby, she took the time to slow down to a more casual pace and smooth out her curls. She was fine with running out of a building for him, but hell would freeze over if he ever caught her.

The city at night was always one of Alicia's favorite thing about New York. Traffic lights seemed to rival the stars and the noisy bustle of the citizens only proved the moniker of "The City That Never Sleeps." It looked as if everyone was out and about on a cool night like this, with packs of people walking by her. It's been said that finding one person in New York City was like finding a needle in a very busy haystack. Now, Alicia realized just how true that saying was as she craned her neck looking for him.

Until.

"_Took you long enough_," a wonderfully familiar voice whispered in her ear. When she whipped around to see the beaming face of Cameron Fisher, she didn't roll her eyes or make a sassy comment or even ignore him.

The only thing she did was throw her arms around him and do what she had wanted to do since he ambled into her crazy life: kiss him. And she did. Sliding his arms around her waist, he responded with so much enthusiasm that they were most _definitely_ causing a scene. If Alicia had to paint what was unraveling in front of her, it would have been a frenzy of blue and green (his eyes), brown (her eyes), and red (their lips).

After what seemed to be a few minutes unintentionally disrupting the flow of sidewalk traffic, Alicia and Cam finally pulled away.

"Well, that was nice," Cam said casually with a grin. Despite the fake nonchalance, Alicia noticed that he was a little red faced and out of air himself.

"Nice?" she repeated, taking a deep breath of the smoky city air.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and the two of them began to stroll down the street aimlessly. "Better than nice," he corrected before adding, "Why didn't we ever do that before? It definitely would have made those two weeks more enjoyable."

She laughed, a natural, genuine laugh. "I was too busy running away."

"Oh, right," he replied dryly. "If we're going to be embracing in public like that more often, you've gotta promise me you'll stay in one place for once." There was some truth underneath his words, Alicia could detect them easily under his joking manner. But it only sent shock waves through her system. The good kind. The _great _kind.

"Promise you'll always come looking for me?" Beaming, she turned to face him and see his own reaction.

Not a second went by before he replied, "Always."

Time was a strange thing. Some nights passed by quickly, some nights seemed to last forever. Underneath the skyscrapers, moon, and stars, Alicia knew that with Cam she would always prefer the latter.

Heiress. Private investigator. Con artist. Thief. Girl. Boy. In the end, none of those words or titles even mattered.

Because you can run all you want, but if you're with the person who will follow you—you're home.

And home, Alicia had decided, was with her art, with Cam, and in the great and unpredictable city**.  
**

* * *

**AN: So, it's all over folks. **

**I can't even describe how much fun it was to write this story, and I love the feedback it's gotten. **

** I hope you all liked the ending. You didn't think I'd leave Alicia and Cam apart, did you? Ha ha :p**

**Thanks so much for reading and reviewing this story, it means a lot and it inspired me to write other stories :) You all are way too amazing!**

**xoxo,**

**Ren  
**


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